The Grace Files : Alex' Story
by Queen Luana
Summary: The events leading up to  Never send a man to do a woman's job . A collection of moments in Alex Grace's life that made her who she is. Starting from the day she joined to academy, all through dealing with John's death.
1. Chapter 1

**Queen Luana: **I'll start of with saying thanks again to the people who wrote positive reviews for _Never send a man to do a woman's job_ and urged me to write a prequel/sequel. I don't think I'll be writing a sequel, unless a real great idea pops into my mind all of the sudden. The things is, Alex' story is finished. All her actions revolved around one thing: John's death. So since that's settled now, all I can do is give you the events leading up to those in RE4. I'm not going to do this chronologically. (Cliffhangers baby, muahahaaa). There'll be some jumping back and forth. Anyway, enjoy more Alex!

_Also I'd like to dedicate this to my friend Kirsten, whose boyfriend died a few days ago in a car accident. They'd been dating for a little over three years._

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**Washington**

I took a deep breath and urged the beating of my heart to ease. Swinging my flashlight around I marched forward, but the darkness was overwhelming. I halted when I hear a twig break behind me. I spun around, flashlight clutched tightly in both my hands and aimed it into the dark. Nothing there. "John?" I asked hoarsely. No response. Where was he? Where was I? "John?" I called his name again, louder this time.

Something was moving along the trees but it was too dark to see. A murder of crows burst into the air not too far away from me and I saw a flash of black out of the corner of my eye. "John… Help me…"

Growling. Leaves rustling. Branches snatching. Something big jumped up against my chest and smacked me against the earthy ground. The flashlight landed a couple of feet away from me and went dim. The dog barked and a stench of rotten flesh consumed me. It growled and dug its teeth deep into my neck. Warm blood rushed out and I screamed waving my arms trying to push it away, crying John's name. More of them came rushing through the trees, tore at my legs and arms, ripping flesh from bone. "John!"

"Why didn't you help me, Alex?" More barking.

"John," I whispered and desperately reached out to the dark figure leaning over me as the dogs devoured me piece by piece. "I'm so sorry, John… I'm sorry…"

My eyes flashed open and I gasped for breath. Second by second, I grew aware of my location, found that I had dozed off on the couch, TV still turned on now showing some cheesy sitcom. My head was buzzing with pain and I pressed my fingers against my temples. Every night the same dream…Wearily I found my cell buzzing on the coffee table and with a groan I took it, accidentally knocking off an empty martini bottle, which fell on the ground and rolled over the carpet, making so loud a noise it made me cramp up painfully, grabbing my head, before finally flicking open my cell. "This is Grace."

"Grace, how are you doing?"

I groaned. Wilkins. Not my number one voice to hear when I get up. "Hungover." I got up and sauntered over to the bathroom. When's that damn room gonna stop spinning?

"Well, I hope you're dressed. A car is sent to pick you up. He'll be there in fifteen minutes."

I checked my watch. Eight thirty. "Wha-?"

"You've been given a new assignment. You have to leave for Washington, pronto."

I rummaged through the drawers underneath the sink, looking for some aspirin. "Washington? Are you kidding me?"

"Mister president asked for you specifically." Annoyance lurked in his voice.

I slammed the drawers shut. "Come again?"

"I'll brief you when you get here. Just make yourself presentable. Don't embarrass me again. This wasn't my call to begin with."

I flicked my cell shut and watched myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and my dreads had been tied together in a messy pigtail. Well, if he really asked for me by name I guess my appearance won't matter that much. I splashed some cold water in my face. "Over six years…" I splashed some water at my reflection. "Pull yourself together. It's been over six years." I took off my shirt and smelled it. It stank of sweat, smoke and alcohol. I guess I can put on a clean shirt. I fully undressed and stepped into the shower.

The water splashed down on me and I closed my eyes. The president, huh? That probably means it's important. Boy oh boy, is my mum gonna be thrilled… Importance is mostly directly linked to mortal danger. I took a clean towel and wrapped myself in it. When walking back into the living room I passed the picture. The only remaining picture of John and I together. I'd torn up all the others. I sadly touched his face with my finger tip. Our last Christmas together. That holiday had never been the same ever since…

Why was it still hanging there? Everyday I forced myself to look at it. Or better yet… Why was I still living in _his_ apartment? Yeah, I had inherited it, but why hadn't I sold it? Why was I still clinging on to all those painful memories? I slept in his bed, showered in his bathroom, watched sloppy romantic comedies on his television set. I cried in his couchions, passed out on his carpet, got drunk in his corners, of his rooms, of his apartment. Not only was I wrecking myself, I seemed to be doing it voluntarily as well. I sighed deeply and dropped the towel. After six years I still hadn't found the strength to let him go.

They rang when I was putting on some clothes and I glanced at the clock. 8:43. "Don't you people know what fashionably late is," I groaned into the intercom.

The cab driver was far too optimistic for his own wellbeing. He filled up the entire ride with small talk about how exciting it must be to be an agent, if I'd prevented many terrorists from killing hundreds of people etc. The kid had a problem and my headache only seemed to have gotten worse by the time the car took a left and drove onto a small private airport where an airplane was waiting.

I groaned painfully when the driver slammed the door shut. My head's going to implode… A friendly face was waiting by the steps leading up into the plane. "Aidan," I greeted Wilkins' assistant.

He held out a glass of water and dropped an aspirin in it. I took it with a smile. "Thanks."

"Hop on, Wilkins' pissed enough already. Don't want to make it worse by being late."

"So what's this all about," I asked him. "Another anti-terrorist assignment?"

"The order comes from the president himself," the sturdy thirty year old said and leaned back in his chair. "So I believe it's a little more delicate."

"I see." I lit a cigarette.

"You can't smoke on a plane, Alex…"

"So why me?" I said and took a drag.

Aidan shrugged and folded his hands on his lap. "I'm not sure. Wilkins had first suggested Leon Kennedy for the job, but the president insisted on sending you."

A grin spread on my face. "Mister president has good taste." I placed my feet on the table between us and took another drag. "How does he know me?"

"I don't know, Alex," he sighed. "Wilkins just called me to tell me to come pick you up and take you to Washington. In chains if I had to. And to tell you you better control that smart mouth of yours in front of the president or you'll be doing overtime for the next ten years scrubbing toilets."

I chuckled. "I always liked him."

* * *

"Fancy living in a place like this, huh?" I said to Aidan when we marched through the classy polished hallways of the white house. Then again, I don't think I'd appreciate coming home every day only to have a handful of men dressed in black jumping at me, searching my pockets, taking my fingerprints and checking me with a metal detector. I think the fun wears off after a while.

Our escort lead us to a separate room where Wilkins was pacing back and forth, one large vein pumping on his forehead, four cigarette butts still smouldering in the metal ashtray on the table set in the middle of the room. He didn't see all too happy when he saw me. "Well at least you aren't late, I guess," he said, lit another cigarette and sat down on one of the chairs by the table. "Sit down. Matthews, get me some coffee."

Aidan sighed deeply and closed the door as he walked out. If possible, he stood even lower on Wilkins' chart of lower lifeforms than me.

"I'll cut to the chase, Grace," he said and offered me a cigarette. "I don't like you being here. This is a mission of the utmost importance. I wanted Kennedy but the president asked for someone that's willing to take a risk and that won't stop for anything to reach his goal. Sadly enough, your name was the first that came to mind."

"I thought you said you were cutting to the chase, Wilkins," I said and took a drag. "Don't waste my time."

"You mind your arrogant mouth, Grace," Wilkins hissed cheeks flushing. "You know Ashley Graham?"

"Yeah, she's the president's daughter. Why?"

Wilkins passed me a file across the table. "She's been kidnapped and has recently been spotted in a small village in Spain."

"Spain? Maybe she's just taking a break."

"Very funny, Grace." Wilkins snatched the cup of coffee of Aidan's hand, spilling some on his pants. "Aw shit, don't just stand there and get me a towel."

Aidan sulked back out of the room and I sniggered. "So, I just have to get her back huh? That's what all the fuss was about? Couldn't you just tell me over the phone?"

"This assignment has top priority, Grace," Wilkins said and took a slug of coffee. "This is serious. We don't know what their motives are for kidnapping Miss Graham, but the fact that they managed to transport her all the way to Spain clearly means they have to be taken seriously."

"Have you considered there might be an insider?" I said and ticked some ashes off the tip of my cigarette.

"Of course we have," Wilkins barked, "don't tell me how to do my job."

Boy, he really didn't like me being here.

"Listen, Grace, and listen well, if she comes back with anything more than bruised kneecaps I'll have your ass fired, got it?"

"You always phrase things so vividly, Harold," I smiled sweetly.

The door opened and a tall dark man peeked inside. "Alex Grace?"

I waved. "That's me."

"Mister President wishes to meet you."

Wilkins paled and I put out my cigarette with a smile. "What a privilege."

"Alex! You listen to me!" Wilkins kept ranting while we followed to bodyguard to the president's office. "Only God knows what I'll do to you if you don't watch your mouth!"

"You know threats don't work on me, Wilkins," I smiled.

He ran his fingers through the few locks of thin white hair he had left and watched in fear how the man lead us into the oval office. It was just how they always portrait the president's office on tv. A long wooden desk in front of high window gazing over the park behind the white house. The floor was covered with expensive looking carpet and the walls were made of polished wood.

Mister President was sitting behind his desk, hands covering his face, and tilted his head when he we entered. "Alex Grace, Mister President," the man introduced me.

"Thank you," President Graham said. "Miss Grace, your reputation precedes you."

"It's an honour sir," I said and heard Wilkins biting his nails feverishly.

"I'm glad you came immediately," he said and stood up from his desk. He seemed much shorter in real life and much older as well. But perhaps worry was just bringing him down. "That fool suggested Leon Kennedy, I know Leon Kennedy, miss Grace. He's much too just for his own good."

I knew I'd made the right choice voting for him.

"Mister President," Wilkins tried to interfere yet again, but much more quietly. The pitbull had suddenly turned into a little baby chihuahua. "I can assure you, Kennedy is more than capable…"

"I need someone who's willing to go all the way," Graham said loudly and Wilkins quietly shuffled backwards again, muttering apologies, "who'll stop at nothing to bring back my daughter."

"I'm your girl, sir," I said with a smile. Beat that, good for nothing Kennedy.

"Don't get me wrong, Miss Grace," Graham said now walking over to me. "Just because you have the capacities I'm looking for doesn't mean I like you." Wilkins hasn't kept his trap shut, then. "If my daughter is done any harm due to your actions, I'll personally make sure that you are locked away and forgotten about for the rest of your life, do I make myself clear?"

I smiled. "Crystal clear."

We locked eyes for a few more seconds then he raised a quivering hand to his face. "She is all I have, Miss Grace. I can't afford to lose her. You, of all people, must understand that."

Wilkins merely coughed.

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**Queen Luana: **Review if you'd like.


	2. Chapter 2

**Queen Luana:** Next chapter, John's funeral. Sorry for the wait.

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**Funeral**

A wriggly worm surfaced from the damp ground and instantly a handful of puns came to mind. I did not wish to speak them at this point. In fact I have outlived the capacity to wish for anything at all. Everything just seemed dead.

A small crowd clad in black garments and hidden beneath the cover of numerous umbrellas huddled up around the grey stone. A lot of them were trotting in place to prevent themselves from sinking ankledeep into the muddy soil. Few of them glanced at anything else but their own feet and once in a while there was a sad shaking of heads. I cast my look up towards the grey heavens. My father had tried to hold a navy blue umbrella above my head to protect me from the rain but I had forced my way through the front of the crowd, leaving him behind me with a couple of feet and though he was a tall man with long muscular arms, I was beyond his reach.

The simple black dress clung to my body and I shivered every time a gush of wind shook us. Each time I clenched my teeth and bit the cold away. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth suffering anymore…

Most of the glances cast from the crowd were in my direction.

Practically everyone here were people I knew through John. His parents, his colleagues and old friends that I'd met at various parties and get-togethers, other relatives. His mother was the one crying most of all. She was wearing a large black hat that covered most of her face as she was leaning forward a little, but the shaking of her shoulders and her hand pressed against her mouth made it very clear that her only son's death had broken something. I percept her from the corner of my eye, but my full attention was at John's grave, at John's smiling image. It was a sad thing. His face had been cut out of a picture of him and me together, last summer. Everything had been so swell back then…

But present's present. John's no longer here. He won't be here for a very long time.

The past week had gone by as in a dream. As if ever since John was shot my world had been spinning, making me nauseous, and had now stopped here. And I felt about ready to puke.

"He was a just and brave man…"

Who the hell had written this junk? I glanced to the side and saw the blond standing there, head lowered in respect and shame. When he felt my eyes piercing his own rainsoaked body he looked up and caught my eye. For the moments both our gazes locked and stood there in a memento of pain and anger. He was standing there, maybe just ten feet away. I grew more and more aware of the flash of cold metal pressing against my thigh.

"Amen."

Everyone uttered a few words as they shook my hand and passed on to John's mother. It was mostly something in the lines of 'I'm sorry' or 'The best of luck'. Only one of them addressed me and squeezed my hand firmly.

"Alex."

One. My lips pursed together and I straightened. Two. Something in my head snapped when I caught Leon's eyes. Three.

"I'm so sorry," he said, gave my hand another squeeze and let go.

Four. My hand remained hovering in front of me and my eyes widened. Five. I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted blood.

"Alex." I recognised my superior's voice. "It won't change a thing." Wilson hesitantly placed a shaky hand on my shoulder.

_Bloody_ ten. I stepped out of the line and followed Leon, who had joined the other people clad in black in their sad monotonous march towards the visitor's centre, where coffee and pastries were being served. I stepped steadily forward and hardly anyone gave me a second look. Poor widow, it must've gotten too much for her, huh? My hand reached down under the brim of my skirt and pulled out the tiny revolver taped to my leg. One bullet was enough.

My father stepped in front of me and placed one hand firmly on my shoulder, the other was still holding the umbrella. "I'm guessing the ten second rule doesn't really work out in this situation," he sighed and continued in that fatherly voice. "You're upset, Alex. Look at John's parents. What would they say if someone were killed on their son's funeral? The police would come and ask all those silly questions. Now come on, give me that thing…" He wricked the gun out of my hand. "Is the safety on? Oh never mind that." He sighed deeply and pulled me close up against his side. "Come on. Let's go get some good strong coffee. You'll feel better."

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The stand-by light on my phone flashed solemnly. In the dark room it had a very ghastly effect as it was even able to throw my shadow on the wall. I was crouched in bed, knees pulled up against my chest and hands holding my feet. I gazed at the phone blankly. Ring, just ring already. I don't even know who I was expecting to call but for the past forty minutes, I had done naught but waiting for the phone to ring. The walls were thin and I heard my neighbours going to bed on the other side. What was I waiting for?

After the funeral my father had brought me home. He'd squeezed my knee as his way of saying 'chin up, girl'. After that I had simply done everything a normal person would do. I had taken off my wet dress and tossed it in the laundry basket, taken a shower and slipped into my sweatpants and old t-shirt. It was an old Spaghetti supper fundraiser shirt I had once volunteered for.

I rubbed my big toe. It must've been close to midnight about now. The blinking of the light was almost sadistic now. As if the damn phone was laughing at me from the nightstand, laughing at the little heap of sorrow huddled up in bed waiting for it to ring. Maybe someone would call to check up on me. Maybe it would be the hospital with news about John or something. Wait. John's dead.

"They're not gonna call." Who's 'they'? "They're not."

A snap shot through my head and it started to burn, starting from the back of my neck, going all the way up until it boiled deep inside my brain. I pressed my hands against my head painfully. Stop the burning. Stop. Stop it.

"JUST RING!" I screamed.

There were several knocks on the door. Three. I watched the door from the bedroom.

Well. They didn't ring.

More knocks.

Was it even worth opening the door?

"Madam?"

I groaned.

"Is everything okay?"

I shuffled forward, one foot at a time and unlocked the door. "Just a sec…" I opened it and an officer peeked inside. Behind him I saw my next-door neighbours, wrapped up in their robes, sighing in relief when they saw me. "Good evening, officer," I managed to utter and nodded at them. "Linda. Harry."

"Hi, Alex," Linda said and smiled weakly. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Sorry to wake you up."

"Mr and Mrs Jennings reported they heard a gun being fired," the officer continued and I saw Harry urging his wife to go back inside with him.

"Yeah," I said hazily and reached for my wallet to show him my licence. "It's okay, I'm a cop…" I flashed my ID and he looked at it briefly. "Just being a little careless. It won't happen again. I didn't mean to startle them."

He nodded. "Technically I have to confiscate it."

"I understand that."

He took off his hat and tinkered with it before looking up at me again. "Are you sure you're okay, Alex?"

I stared at my feet. "Yes. I'm fine."

"I'll leave it at this. Don't… Don't make me regret this."

"I won't," I forced a smile. "Thank you." I closed the door after he'd given me the 'if you need anyone to talk to' lecture and pressed my back to it. I sighed deeply and fetched a dusting pan to clean up the pieces of shattered glass on the floor. A shard cut my finger and I sucked it. The bitter taste of blood made me nauseous and I sobbed quietly while cleaning up the rest. Finally I picked up the picture. A bullet had pierced it right next to John's face mutilating the guy he had flung his arm around. For a brief flash I wanted to put it in a drawer until I found a new frame for it. Then I inhaled deeply and tore it up, before dropping it in the trashcan.

When I plumped down in my bed, the phone rang.

"Sweetie? Oh, I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No… No, I was still awake."

"Okay, good. I couldn't sleep just worrying about you. We didn't talk after the funeral and dad drove you home. I guess I just wanted to check up on you, I hope that's okay." The other end was silent for a while, as if she was waiting for me to say something. "Are you okay, Alex?"

I pressed my fingers against my closed eyelids. "No, mom," I squeaked and a single tear escaped my eye. "I'm not…"

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**Queen Luana:** I'll try not to leave as much time between chapters. A college girl now, have less time to spare.


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